


Vindication of Virtues

by dewdropdaydream



Category: LPS Popular, Littlest Pet Shop, Littlest Pet Shop Popular, The Littlest Pet Shop
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Bulimia, Highscool Drama, Mean Girl, Mostly Canon Compliant, anthropomorphic animals, highschool, self harm mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewdropdaydream/pseuds/dewdropdaydream
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Vindication of Virtues

Brooklyn told herself she didn’t care that her head always felt murky, her heart heavy. Reparation wasn’t worth the shame, it wasn’t worth the feeling of loss. Nothing was worth loss for her. She felt she’d already lost so much, but maybe half of it was never there in the first place. 

She couldn’t remember who she once had been and she repressed the urge to try. She wanted to feel as though the foamy womb of the sea had birthed her just as she was, Aphrodite, standing 5’7 on flats, fur warm as a morning's golden glow, mouth glossy as a cherry straight from conception. The insecure child who’s shell she’d shed wasn’t a part of Southern California’s Brooklyn Hayes. She had no recollection of a citrus colored kitten who craved to feel special, to meet her mother’s expectations and garner her attention. Brooklyn had surely gotten attention eventually, and at first it was unalloyed sunshine, a delicious delight. It had felt like a game, playing pretend as her own dream girl, and knowing everyone saw her just as she always hoped they would. Now her own game, the approval she’d relied on had turned against her, a dreary dread to have a spotlight drawing only whispers of ridicule. But the more attention Brooklyn got, the more she needed. She didn’t know how her heart would feel in the paws of another. It had gone unseen her whole life, never grazed or glanced at. She didn’t care who it was, as long as someone gave her a similar feeling to being seen. 

She didn’t know herself but she knew she wasn’t the powerful, picture perfect princess that everyone was deluded into hallucinating glow down the hallway. She had to be fragile with her toothbrush, she was familiar with the aftertaste of strained vomit. When she’d been admitted to the health center months before after her battle with Savannah, the doctors questioned her bony frame and low bmi. She barely got to know the taste of hospital food. If anyone were to look close enough, they’d find shallow scars on her left hip. If her butler wasn’t wary about proximity to her, he might catch the sound of her dry retches or choked sobs or harsh hisses in the desolation of her polished bedroom. 

Lately Brooklyn had been wallowing and lounging around among the echoes of her empty mansion. She’d unleashed great gouts of tears and now she was exhausted. If she hadn’t been so used to it, maybe she’d miss her mother. But their interactions only brought her to feel weaker and more defeated than she already did. Her mother was the only weakness she had that didn’t strengthen her defense. There used to be an aching, a deep desperation for the void of a caretaker in her heart to be filled. But as time passed, it was getting clogged up and closing in, no room for unnecessary yearning. Brooklyn often felt nothing. To compensate, she surrounded herself with everything. 

Savannah always had a warm, rich domestic life. As a kitten, Brooklyn would come over and spend the night with an unfamiliar sensation of security in a house about the size of her living room. She’d wake up to pop tarts and cartoons. No one telling her to watch her calories, no rush, no workers around the corner, no grand view of upper class suburbia from the window. When Savannah would come over to Brooklyn’s, she’d gush and giggle and bother the butler. And Brooklyn wished she could share the surge of excitement. Savannah has grown into a generous and tender hearted girl. Brooklyn figured she was ignorant to the very concept of pain. Nothing got under her fur more than seeing a thriving, fresh faced phantom of her childhood, the version of perfect that she should’ve been. Brooklyn looked at that fire furred canine and felt her blood boil. She didn’t see a being with a pulse, only her worst fear personified.

If eyes are the windows to the soul, it was no wonder about the cold, glacier blue reflecting in Brooklyn’s vanity mirror. She evened out her mascara, gnawed her cheek, sat straighter and tried not to appear timid. Staring in the reflection, she allowed for a moment of mellow tranquility with herself. She tried not to focus on anything that could be a flaw, whispered about her perfect beauty, about how special she was. She just didn’t believe it like she used to.


End file.
